


Wanderer

by FrozenPenguin



Series: And I'll give you all my Hart(win AUs) [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Growing Up, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Scandinavian Folklore - Freeform, Secret Identity, Slow Build, Slow Burn, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenPenguin/pseuds/FrozenPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not-quite-Fantasy AU (but yes, it is)</p><p>Children of the Valley are taught from an early age to avoid those known as wanderers: vicious, omen bearing strangers who have been shunned by their homes, and therefore all others.</p><p>Eggsy believes all this until, one day, he finds he owes his life to one such man.</p><p>From that summer on, Harry Hart – a curious man of no notable misfortunes – comes to the Valley at the bloom of spring and leaves when the first snowflakes fall. A dutiful shepherd boy meets a strange, knowledgeable traveller who has no destination but where his heart takes him – which, as it turns out, is back to Eggsy, always…until it doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Prologue: Children’s tales from the Valley in Brogue-Dale_

For as long as Eggsy could remember, he had feared the wanderers. In fact, he feared them more than anything in the whole world. As of why, exactly, he hadn’t really given much thought.

He supposed it had something to do with the stories he was told while younger. These were stories the anxious mothers of the Valley told their children to have them observe their strict curfews, and do the chores they were assigned to, out of fear for what misfortunes might befall them if they didn’t.

Some stories scared the children more than others. The one about the Näck was favoured as the scariest. The Näck was portrayed as a vicious water spirit that would drown those who disturbed it. It would take the form of an elegant man playing the fiddle. By enchanting its victims with a melancholic melody, it lured unfortunate souls to a silent, watery grave at the river’s deepest end.

Unbeknownst to them, this tale was told to the children to have them keep away from the riverbank when the snow melted in the spring, which was when the stream was strong enough to wash grown man far downstream in the icy waters. But the children did not know this, and were all convinced that the Näck truly lived in their brook. The younger believed it more so than the older, which therefore made it a highly amusing way to frighten one’s little siblings, should they become too clingy. Quite often, they would dare and tease each other into splashing in the water and throw rocks, as to anger the Näck.

Another story that amused the children greatly was the one about the Hulder people. They were proud hunters of the forest with a diet of boars, deer, and whatever else one could endeavour to find roaming beneath the treetops; however, their favourite snack was small children that had gone too far away from their villages. Thus, the younger children never wandered too far off into the woods.

To keep the children from being naughty – or, in any case, make an honest attempt to do so – they were told of the under earthlings, who stole misbehaving children from their mothers and replaced them with their own troll children.

These were but few of the many tales that had the children’s imaginations boiling and bubbling as they dared each other to misbehave, told frightening, perhaps not quite true stories, and tested their bravery against the supernatural beings that supposedly surrounded them.

To his peers, Eggsy boldly claimed he didn’t believe in any of the stories; only he knew he was lying his ears red, for he _did_ believe in quite a few of them. The tale about the Näck had him so terrified, he hadn’t dared fetch water at the riverbank for two whole weeks; and then Dean had been fed up enough to put him in his place, in person, and he swore he still felt the sting across his bottom when he remembered it.

Nevertheless, while most of the valley children feared the Näck, the Hulders and the trolls the most, Eggsy feared the wanderers – for they were the only ones he had ever seen.

Eggsy never saw a live Hulder, nor a troll, or even a Näck in their river, but he had seen wanderers. Many thousand he would say, had he learned to count such high numbers, but, at the age of ten, he hadn’t. Rarely would any child of the Valley have the need to count higher numbers than the sheep and cattle they were herding in the summer, unless their families were merchants where keeping numbers were more of a requirement.

Very seldom, a wanderer would pass through the Valley, and the children would watch them from the safety of a carefully chosen hiding spot as they trekked up the Long-hill. They were all mostly tall, broadly built travellers, dressed in thick layers of filthy clothing – and they all held the same, tired look in their eyes.

The wanderers would sometimes restock their inventory when passing through the Valley. If they meant to stay, they would pay for a simple bed in the tavern ran by the Mortons, likely to spend the evening in the common rooms where all met: seasonal occupants, strangers and locals alike.

Though they could pay for their needs, just like any other traveller, they were shunned and scorned. They were never accepted into any social circle or sorts, and never would they talk more than strictly necessary with the valley people.

“They bring nothing but bad luck and vicious omens,” Eggsy remembered his grandmamma caution when he had once asked where they all came from. “They are shunned from their own homes, and therefore from any other home—if they stay too long, they leave their hardships by your door when they go.”

While he had heard others name them idle men, who abandoned their homes, families and duties, and others still accused them of being a thieving lot, Eggsy choose to believe in his grandmamma and her tales of the mysterious, shunned men who brought vicious signs wherever they went.

And then, one day, he chose to believe differently.


	2. Spring of the First Year, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue was not supposed to be posted without this part. Sorry about that--here's the actual first chapter.

_Spring of the First Year_

_Part I_

_-_

It was a beautiful spring day, just before the onset of what would be his eleventh summer, when he first met Harry Hart.

-

Eggsy and the valley children could be found playing outside the village fence around noontime, as they frequently would once their chores were done with or escaped. Today, however, was particularly exciting.

The slow tickle of the winter river had grown into a full, rushing current, as if overnight. The water nearly flooded the banks and soaked the surrounding growth into a terribly muddy state, and it brought along spectacular shards of ice from miles and miles upstream.

It was during times like these children were forbidden to go near the river, but it was also during times like these it was enormously entertaining to do so.

Eggsy ran along with the older children to catch the shards floating down the Valley; a band of excited younglings trailed after them. No travellers passed through the Valley during early spring. The mountain trails grew slippery and hazardous during this season, making the pass impossible to cross; they therefore did not fear getting caught playing in the dangerous river streams. Such was their idea of fun – and fun they had, rejoicing in hopping from one shard to another, and back to the safety of the shoreline.

The younger children preferably stood by the riverbank, watching in awe and mild anxiousness while the older ones showed off.

Eggsy loved showing off. He had named himself the champion of hopping ice shards, having rode halfway down to the river bend on four different flakes, and currently stood undefeated in this endeavour – even among his elders. While the younglings admired his courageous acts and tricks that had him soaring between the swaying shards, as if the winds carried his feet from one to the next, the older ones didn’t take a liking to his growing cheek. They tried showing themselves better than him, capable enough to surpass the boy’s achievements, but found themselves outmatched by an endless supply of innovative energy and stamina.

Today they had had enough of being beaten in every single aspect of their game. Hence, a group cleverly decided that if they couldn’t outmatch Eggsy, they would outwit him. If they set him up to agree to an impossible task, they could take delight in watching him fail, or run away with his tail between his legs.

Thus, Charlie Hesketh, the son of a successful merchant whose business was based in Brogue some five miles down the river, took it upon himself to present their dare to Eggsy.

Behind him followed Rufus Saville and Digby Barker. Digby was the local smith’s son who spent more time down in Brogue than up in the village. The Savilles were a family of animal traders who were also based in Brogue, but Rufus’ mother was a local farmer’s daughter who had grown up with Eggsy’s own mother.

None of them liked Eggsy too well, which was just fine, as Eggsy couldn’t stand the bunch of them either – the Hesketh boy less so than the other two. The merchant’s son had an inclination to flaunt the fortunes of his father to the farmers’ lot whenever given the chance. Eggsy suspected this to be his only motive for coming by the village at all: to stress their lesser birth and lacking prospects in life. This irked Eggsy greatly, for he knew more than a dozen farmers’ sons who would make far greater men than Charlie could ever hope to be, prospects and fortunes be damned.

The boys approached Eggsy as he was showing the crowd of younglings how one would best make a leap off the bank. His bright demeanours were brash and confident, as was usual, but they soured quickly as he noticed the boys’ presence.

“Eggy Baker,” Charlie then addressed his attention.

Eggsy fixed a peeved glare at him. “It’s _Eggsy_. _Unwin_.” he said, emphasizing each word. “I ain’t a baker’s son.”

The lads all chortled, finding hilarity in his agitation. Every soul in the Valley knew of the strange circumstances of the Baker family, and of Eggsy’s distaste for his family name. He was born a bastard to his unwed mother. As far as Eggsy knew, his birthfather had succumbed to the winter fever down in the harbour town at the river’s end without ever telling his mother where he had gone off to. All Eggsy had left of him was a name – Lee Unwin – and the determination to take it as his own once the village chief allowed it.

Then Dean had come into the picture. The son of the local baker, he was seen as a respectable man (although Eggsy knew better now) who had lavished attention on his mother, in spite of Michelle’s diminished prospects. Once the man had married his mother, he had insisted his stepson should carry his name as well. The Valley elders has agreed to the demand, which was looked upon as a gesture of kindness and inclusion of a poor bastard child into a decent family, but Eggsy couldn’t have been more unhappy. He planned to redeem it the moment he was of age.

“Anyhow, _Eggy_ ,” Charlie smiled with an air of haughtiness. “The others and I came up with a dare for you – we know how you like them so much – and I propose we make it a little more _interesting_ today.”

At the mention of a dare, Eggsy’s interest was perked. Whether he liked Charlie or not, he did enjoy the thrills of humiliating him through his sheer competence alone, which the older boys liked to deny he had any trace of.

Taking a bracing breath, Eggsy let his confidence show as he taunted his peers with a crooked smile of his own. “Yeah, good—so what was you thinking of _proposing_ , _Charles_?”

The lads exchanged amused looks, and Rufus took to speaking, “If you lose, you’ll have to keep my family’s herd next week out on Nether-field, and do Digby’s chores ‘til the day after tomorrow.”

“If you win, we’ll do yours for a week,” Digby explained further.

Eggsy considered the offer for a moment, silently agreeing that the exchange sounded fair – and he’d accept in a heartbeat once the terms of the dare were reasonable. He said as much, and Charlie’s scheming grin widened as he pointed to the churning current. “You’ve got to cross the river right here.”

Several gasps sounded among the spectators, and Charlie’s grin grew wolfish as he heard them.

Roxy, the innkeeper’s niece who had stayed the winter in the Valley, hopped down from the fence where she and Ryan, the miller’s son, had silently been listening to their banter. Eggsy didn’t particularly like her at first, though she was smart and far better company than most of the valley children.

“Eggsy,” she warned as she walked up to stand by him, “Don’t do it. No one has ever crossed the river like that, it’s too dangerous!” He could clearly hear the distress in her voice; she had probably anticipated the outcome of the situation even before trying to change his mind.

“I can do it,” he boasted, never taking his glare off Charlie. More surprised gasps filled the air, and the younglings, who were quick to side with Roxy, immediately plead with him not to follow through with the agreement.

“Oi, don’t be so worried, yeah?” Ryan then peeped up from his seat on the fence. “You all should know by now, there’s nothing Eggsy can’t do! He’s a proper genius, he is!” That little bit of convincing and encouragement was enough to have most of them agree that there was no way Eggsy could fail.

He gave them all a final, confident grin, and stepped down to the brook. Everyone else gathered some yards behind him and fell quiet. He could feel the anxiousness radiating off of them. Truth to be told, he wasn’t entirely calm, himself – especially at that moment, as he looked out over the harsh river stream.

Fallen logs and flakes of ice came crashing violently against the occasional boulders rising out of the water. As if the brutality of the rushing water wasn’t enough, he had accidentally dipped his feet down into the river a few times on his earlier journeys on the current, and he knew it was below freezing.

Eggsy swallowed thickly as another shard was crushed into smithereens as it collided with a rock. After a few quiet moments, several barks of laughter broke out behind him.

“Aww, look at him! Too scared to even try!” Rufus taunted, egging him on.

“Shut up,” he growled, redirecting his attention to the river. “I’ll do this.”

“Come on, Eggsy, just give up,” Charlie goaded. “The chance of you actually making it is slim. Doing some extra chores for a week is better than losing your pathetic life, isn’t that right, _Baker_?”

He went ignored. A moment later, Eggsy saw his opportunity. Two ice shards came washing down the river, conveniently very close to one another – they would be the perfect bridge for him to make it across.

Accelerating, he took off, jumping onto another shard caught between a rock and the shoreline. He grit his teeth as the cold of the ice seeped through his thin leather shoes, but he kept his feet moving, knowing from experience it would only get worse if he kept still. The shards came close, about six feet away from him and drawing nearer. Taking another leap, he landed perfectly on the first, then a little wobbly on the second. Next, he had to get off before he was washed downstream with the ice.

He spotted a boulder near the shoreline a little further along the river and marked it as his next target. Concentrating, he sped up once more and made it for the stone. His feet connected, but the stone was slippery from the water that had drenched it.

A breath of air escaped him as he felt his feet slip underneath him, but his yelp was drowned in the violent noise of the coursing river and the anxious screams of his onlookers. Waving furiously with his arms, he threw his weight forward, barely regaining his balance. With another short leap, he felt the cold underneath his feet replaced by soggy mud and grass that had warmed up under the blazing sun.

A relieved sigh left him, and cheers erupted from the other side. He grinned victoriously, standing up and waving back. It felt like it had taken him forever to cross, even though the river was hardly any wider than twenty feet. Clenching his fist, he celebrated with a triumphant shout of his own.

On the other side, Charlie scowled, all traces of haughtiness from earlier wiped off in favour of glaring daggers at the rejoicing boy. Digby and Rufus looked at him with worry, alarmed that they might actually have to do Eggsy’s chores for the coming week, but Charlie stopped whatever concerns were about to leave their mouths by shouting across the river:

“Very good, Eggy! But if you want to win, you have to make it back here!”

Roxy and Ryan gasped and voiced their protests simultaneously.

“Hey, that’s no fair man—he made it ‘cross already!”

“That wasn’t part of the dare, Charlie!”

“Of course it was!” Charlie retaliated, eyes focused on Eggsy who sent a nasty glare back; he knew fully that the bet hadn’t included any retours. However, if he called it off as unfair, his heroic trip across the river had earned him nothing; if he made it back, he would have won everything.

“Just watch,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, getting ready to start his return over the brutal river stream, instead of walking upstream to the safe crossing offered by the bridge.

A short minute later, three shards of ice came rushing down the river. Eggsy couldn’t believe his amazing bout of luck and immediately started running. He’d be over in a flash with such huge shards to support him. In a blink, he was soaring through the air again, feet landing solid on the freezing fleet of ice. However, that was when ill fate befell him.

A loud creak crept through the air, and Eggsy could feel a rumble that wasn’t from the river beneath him. Before he could begin to comprehend what was happening, the shard he was standing on split into two and crumbled beneath him. He yelled out in startled surprise, his foot slipping into the icy water; he tried to catch his balance by throwing his weight towards the biggest piece, but the river wouldn’t let him have it his way. A wave of water hit him from the side and threw him out into the stream.

Eggsy barely heard the screams from shore as he was submerged in the bone-chilling river water. He felt the stream tearing at his limbs, carrying his struggling body downstream, but he wouldn’t give up his fight. Kicking with his legs using all the energy he could muster, he desperately aimed for the bright light above him that was the surface. And he did surface, for brief seconds – long enough to see the alarmed faces of his friends.

A shard of ice hit his head from the back, and everything went dark.

-

When Eggsy woke up, it was to the sound of a beautiful melody.

The notes were played with practiced ease, blending in with the calming sound of running water; it was a simple, stunning harmony. Lovely, serene, and yet...there was a subtle sort of loneliness woven into each sweet note. The melody, its author and its performer...all seemed so very lonesome.

Yet, even though there was such sadness in the song, it drew him in, lulling him into a deep slumber – or waking him from one, whichever came first. All he did know was the gently prompting feeling that made him want to reach out and touch the music, and cherish it... he felt as if spellbound by it, where he laid in the blazing sunlight.

He could feel the rays dancing on his face, warmth tingling across his cheeks. He also felt rough, slightly itching cloth packed tightly around his bare skin; it was wool, his mind gathered – a thick blanket of soft wool.

It was delightful, really, just lying still in his sleepy state, not thinking about chores and stupid Charlie Hesketh, or worrying about what sort of day Dean was having or if he was going to the tavern that night. He could just lie there and listen to the sweet, lulling music that could undoubtedly lead him anywhere, even to his own death. Yes, he could die happily like this, Eggsy thought, and it was certainly a better death than drowning in the river.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, memories of falling into the icy river water jolted him awake. Summer green eyes rapidly blinked open, and Eggsy sat up.

The music stopped, but he already knew he had heard it from his right. He immediately looked and found a man clothed in an elegant, crimson traveling cloak seated an arm’s length away from him on the rock; he held himself gracefully where he sat, a strange little instrument pressed to his lips.

Sharp, honeyed eyes shot a piercing stare through him, and a terror awakened in Eggsy’s head as he remembered that he only knew of one elegant creature that would play such ensnaring music for little children by the riverside.

“Ah—good. You’re awake,” it spoke, and Eggsy startled.

“ _Näck!_ ” He threw himself sideways, kicking his feet out at the creature for some sort of protection. “Oh shit— _shit_ , stay the fuck away from me!”

The man looked at him curiously; he seemed mildly surprised at Eggsy’s outburst. “Näck...?” he echoed, and then, determinedly, leaned forward and reached out to the flailing child.

“Don’t— _get away from me, I said!_ ” Eggsy screeched and scrambled to escape, but his body was still weak and disoriented from waking up after the whole ordeal of falling into the river. In the end, his shaking legs got tangled with the wool blanket he had slept beneath, losing him his balance. Eggsy fell to his side and yelped in pain when he felt a sharp edge of the rock cut into his thigh. Through his panic, he noticed the man nearing him again. “No, shit, don’t come any closer! I’ll say some nifty spells and make you disappear, don’t you dare try drowning me—”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, boy,” the man cried disbelievingly, and grabbed a hold of Eggsy’s wrist, ceasing his wild floundering. “I’m not some fairy-tale creature that vanishes by petty spells—I’m completely _human_ , I assure you, and this _human_ just saved you from drowning in that river.”

At this, Eggsy stopped his struggling and looked up at the “creature” to find out that it was, indeed, a human being: an adult man, no less, perhaps a little older than his mother, but with deep, dark eyes gave him the appearance of having seen far many more winters than he truly had. His grip was stronger than Eggsy expected, as if he was used to labour of some kind, yet his hand was not as crude and calloused as a blacksmith’s or carpenter’s.

The man gently released him while Eggsy eyed him up. The boy then crudely asked, “Who are you?”

“The man who saved your life, as I told you before.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“A little gratitude would be nice,” the man grumbled, but sighed and gave in nonetheless. “I’m just a traveller, my boy,” he said as he picked up and neatly spread out the woollen blanket Eggsy had kicked away earlier. “Now, come here and let us dress that wound.”

Eggsy realised then that he was bleeding from the cut his thigh sustained in is attempted escape. He hesitantly went to him and laid down, prone as instructed, while the traveller opened a pocket on his rucksack. Eyes wandering, he observed his clothes spread out on the rock next to them.

The man opened a flask of clean water and rinsed away the blood. Wincing at the soft sting, Eggsy timidly asked, “Why did you take me clothes off?”

“Ah, well, couldn’t save your life only to have you lose it to pneumonia now, could I?” the man said with humour.

Eggsy’s eyes narrowed as he tried the foreign word on his tongue, not quite succeeding in pronouncing it.

“The winter fever, my boy,” the traveller explained. He then smeared some sort of ointment on the cleaned cut.

It stung a little more than the water did, and Eggsy bit his lip to refrain from crying out.

“There’s a good boy,” said the traveller, soothing the hurt, “and a lucky one too. By the Heartland, I thought you gone when I first spotted you—fortunately, floating on your back, though you were dangerously chilled.”

As the traveller told him how he had pulled him out of the river, he dexterously dressed his wound with clean cloth from his rucksack, prompting him to li. He explained how he, first, had thought Eggsy an animal before noticing his clothes, and had soon waded out into the shallow, where his lifeless body had gotten stuck by a lodge, and hoisted him onto the dry shore. He had forced the water from his lungs and got him breathing again before laying him out to soak in the sunlight and build his body heat; he was very lucky, indeed, to still be alive, and he probably wouldn’t be had the traveller come by a minute or so later, or not at all.

“There you are,” he announced as he finished dressing his wound, and helpfully handed Eggsy his clothes while he sat up. “These should be done drying by now. Your shoes, however, might need a little while longer.”

Eggsy muttered a ‘thanks’ and quickly dressed himself, stealing cautious glances at the man who had given him his privacy by busying himself with packing up the supplies he had used. Even fully clothed and with the sun still blazing hot above them, Eggsy felt chilled to his core. A shiver ran through him and he wrapped his arms around himself. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed, and the traveller was quick to offer him the blanket again which he accepted graciously, quickly wrapping it around himself.

As he sat there, soaking in the sun, the traveller opened another flask and poured a hot, cloudy liquid into a cup cut from wood. He handed the steaming concoction to Eggsy, who eyed the contents suspiciously.

“Drink it,” the traveller prompted gently, “A little something I brewed this morning. It will help you regain some heat.”

He hesitated for a moment longer before giving in and bringing the cup to his lips; it tasted sweet, like honey, with a range of spices Eggsy had never tasted before. Eyes widening in pleasant surprise, he indulged in another sip; the warmth of the liquid tingled down his throat and spread through his body, chasing the remaining cold away.

The man hummed, pleased at his delight. He sat down again, next to Eggsy, and pulled out the strange little box-like instrument from earlier. The boy looked on curiously, as he pressed it to his lips and played a melody similar to the one he had played earlier, but paced slightly differently.

Eggsy looked on, mesmerised by the way he slid his mouth across the silvery metal, playing the sweetest notes with such ease that one would think he had done so every day of his life. He continued observing the man while he drank the spiced honey-water, and found himself growing more curious with each passing moment.

A musically talented man with very decent travelling gear, strong and capable hands, and surely medicinal training of sort, who calls himself a mere traveller. Surely, that was not the entirety of the truth – which made Eggsy wonder why the man was so freely sharing his belonging, yet hesitant to share of his own person.

And then it occurred to him just who—what—the man is.

“You’re a wanderer,” Eggsy said.

The music came to a stop with the traveller giving him a sideways look. “Of sorts, I suppose.”

Eggsy stirred with nervous excitement. He was sitting next to a _wanderer_ , talking to one, no less; the things he could ask that he had never had the chance to before! Containing his anxious glee, Eggsy bravely met the calculating, brown-eyed stare with his own. “Was you thrown out of your home? Is that why you’re travelling?”

“Oh, no, I was certainly not,” the wanderer chuckles, slipping his instrument back into his pocket. “I left by my own inclination. I have a penchant for seeing the world, which is a vastly undesirable trait in my family, but no one has ever stopped me from leaving, nor pushed me to do so.”

This left Eggsy just shy of confused, as it didn’t correlate to any of the tales his grandmamma had told him. Huffing, he then said, “Well, ain’t much worth seeing here, just forest and some fields. If you head up any further, you get to the mountain crossing—but you have to be mental to make it ‘cross with the snow melting like this.”

“Actually, I’m westbound—I just came from there.”

“Shut up.”

The wanderer’s mouth twitched into a wicked smile at his outburst and round-eyed shock.

“You’ve got to tell me how you done it,” Eggsy prompted, suddenly far more interested in this man who was skilled enough to cross a pass that no one else dared travel through in the spring.

“Afraid that will have to be another time, perhaps,” was the reply he gained. A disappointed whine passed through his gritted teeth, and the wanderer further said, “I was just headed for Brogue when I found you in the water—a not entirely unwelcome rest, though you have set me back quite a bit. Pray tell, just how did you end up there anyway?”

Eggsy flustered then, as he remembered the events that had passed earlier. “…was a dare,” he mumbled, and then winced as he realised it is also a dare he had lost.

Right then and there, he had half in mind to beg the wanderer to take him with him —anything to avoid facing Charlie after this – but he knew that it was surely a lost cause. Even if the man agreed to have him as a companion, there was no way he could leave his mother alone with Dean.

“We should probably be getting you home then,” the wanderer said, rising to his feet, and Eggsy realised just how tall the man was. “You live close by, I presume?”

“Yeah, a village just up the river,” he explained.

“Good. I’m sure you have caused quite the upheaval if anyone saw you fall in—I’m rather surprised no one has come this far looking for you yet,” he exclaimed.

Eggsy was not nearly as surprised; he imagined Charlie and the other two had spun some story to demand the silence of the younglings, and they surely attempted to bully Ryan and Roxy into it, too, before one of them could escape to find help.

He didn’t say so out loud, though, and instead finished his drink and handed the cup back to the wanderer, who accepted it with a nod and put it away. Eggsy then stood up with him, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He wondered if he should give it back, as well.

“Keep it,” the wanderer said, noticing his asking frown. “It will keep you warming up, at least until we get you back. Now, what is your name, my boy?”

Just as Eggsy opened his mouth to answer, he heard a voice shouting his name from a distance. Soon several more joined in, and a steady choir of “Eggsy!” drew closer to where they stood.

“Eggsy! Please answer, Eggsy!” He immediately recognised his mother’s voice. The wanderer gave him a knowing look when he turned around to respond to her.

“Mum!” he shouted out to the forest. “Mum, I’m here!”

“Eggsy!” Michelle’s relieved reply was much closer now, and, not a moment later, her fair head appeared around the bend of trees and her eyes found her son. She rushed up to him with no regard for the stranger and hugged him to her bosom so very tightly, a mother who had thought her only child lost, and poured out her relief. “Oh my goodness, I was so worried, I was! Oh, how you vex me with your stupid plays, my dearest little boy.”

“Yeah, I’m alright, mum,” he assured her, returning the embrace the best he could with his arms trapped in the blanket.

Michelle ran kisses along his brow, only turning to the traveller just as Mr Morton and his wife, and even the limping village chief, Sir Higgins, came rushing through the trees.

“Oh goodness me, he is alright,” Mrs Morton exclaimed, and Sir Higgins asked Mr Morton to head back to tell the remaining parties that they had found the boy.

Sir Higgins then turned to the boy in question and observed the blanket and the shoes drying by the rock. Puzzling together the pieces, for he had always been apt at quickly understanding a situation, he addressed the wanderer with an air of polite gratitude. “I presume we have you to thank for our Gary being safe. Every child is a treasure to a village as tiny as ours – we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Surely, I tell you, you should come be a guest in my home and we shall find a fitting reward for your act of bottomless kindness.”

The wanderer, Eggsy saw, was taken back by the sudden outburst of gratitude, but he gathered himself before anyone else could notice and politely replied, “I must kindly decline, good sir, as I have no imminent need for rewards or hospitality, but you have my thanks for the gracious offer.”

“Oh, no, please,” Michelle was quick to beg, pulling Eggsy impossibly tighter, “Surely there must be something we can do for you? You saved my only child. A meal and some rest, perhaps, bread and supplies for your journey?”

The wanderer declined again, while Eggsy pulled free from his mother’s nearly suffocating hold. “As it is, I’m on my way to Brogue. I will fill my pockets and have my rest there, and I am hoping to make it before the sun sets.”

“May I ask how long you are planning to stay in town, good man?” Mrs Morton inquired.

“Oh, a week or so, as I have it in mind.”

“Then I ask you kindly to spare a night for our tavern and let us properly show our gratitude!” she interjected sharply. “Brogue is but a short walk from here—surely whatever awaits you there can wait a day longer.”

At the continued persistence, the wanderer found that he could not politely decline any further offers without coming off as rude. Clearing his throat, he hesitantly agreed. “Well, if you do insist—”

“Yes, yes we do!” Sir Higgins affirmed. “Now, let us all head back! I am sure you are as weary from your travels as our Gary is from his misadventures—though they were certainly more elaborate than usual, this time around.”

Eggsy flustered under the unwanted attention, embarrassed that the chief had to paint him so closely acquainted with trouble. The amused, supposedly reassuring smile the wanderer wore when their eyes met only drove him to blush harder, but Eggsy would not turn away. He held his chin up proudly without breaking his stare, the green of his eyes glinting in his flushed face as the wanderer stared back.

Even when Sir Higgins asked for his name, the man in question still looked at Eggsy as he said, “My name is Harry Hart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Scandinavian culture and folklore, as well as childhood memories.
> 
> (Kudos to whoever can guess which children's series inspired this).
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr.


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